“You’re being yourself,” says a cross-dressing man who parades around the streets at night in a fetishistic latex maid’s uniform. With bonus dog collar and leash, obviously.
But he doesn’t want to talk about his sexuality, because “it’s complicated.”
As if we couldn’t guess.
Says our enthusiast of bondage and public humiliation, “The rush eventually wears off… I miss the rush… you do more risqué things.” And of course this chasing of transgression entails onlookers. People to be scandalised, disturbed or in some way imposed upon. Reluctant participants in his naff erotic drama.
At risk of seeming insufficiently affirming, what I see is a man being consumed by his own sad and grubby fetish. Not, I think, the most obvious basis for applause. Or indeed pride.
But hey. Modernity, baby.
We’ve recently mentioned how the realities above are difficult to convey in a normal social situation. Consequently, you may encounter people who wish to be seen as supportive of all things trans, because they’ve been watching the BBC and therefore know almost nothing about the phenomenon that they feel obliged to be seen supporting.
And so, you may find yourself in a social situation where nodding along or some affirming noise is expected, and you may then have to decide whether to sidestep the subject or introduce the other person to a world they may not care to enter or wish to spend much time in. But which is a very large part of what it is they’re affirming, if, perhaps, unwittingly.
And which isn’t necessarily what you want to think about when, say, having a meal with friends or coffee with the neighbours.
Update:
Regarding the endless chasing of transgression, mentioned above, it’s worth bearing in mind that our tedious transvestite is recording his interactions, any double-takes or looks of disgust, for sexual purposes. That’s his thing. He’s making other people part of his fetish, whether they wish to be or not.
See also this piece of work, mentioned here some years ago.
Dr Colin Cremin, a sociology lecturer, wants you, and his students, to be disconcerted by his stockings:
Dr Cremin doesn’t seem to grasp, or isn’t willing to admit, that his craving for public transgression – to, as he puts it, “sow gender confusion in kids” – by which he means young people over whom he has leverage – reveals quite a lot about his character.
And his fitness to teach.
I hate to sound prim, but if I were – God help me – a sociology student, I doubt I’d be reassured by the fact that my lecturer felt entitled to use the classroom as a venue for his transvestite fetish.
It does rather suggest a pathological level of self-involvement and raises a suspicion that students may find themselves playing captive audience to – or being reluctant participants in – some personal psychodrama. A kind of power game.
Some variation of, “I can do this, and you can’t stop me without being accused of bigotry.”
Same dynamic. Same imposition. Same sad creepiness.
And note how readily Dr Cremin – our balding, middle-aged man in a frock and court shoes – employs the now-familiar language of “gender fluidity,” identities, and mandatory tolerance.
Lifted from the comments, which you’re reading, of course.
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